Chapter 1156: The Old Angler by Xining Town's Creek Draws His Spear
"Trying to lock my vital energy and divine soul to kill me in one strike? A fine idea, but you failed, because you are already decrepit."
The black-robed figure walked toward the small carriage. The cold wind threaded through the tears in his black garment, making it look like a war banner from the underworld.
Watching this scene, Shang Xingzhou's gaze remained indifferent, but the little Daoist hiding behind him grew afraid, his small face pale as snow, trembling incessantly.
The human cavalry around them did not notice the commotion on the small hill. Clearly, the black-robed figure had used some kind of technique.
The battle on the plains continued, growing fiercer. The silhouette of the Mountain-Toppling Ape seemed to draw nearer.
The Second Demon General suddenly led the tribal chieftains and elites in an assault on the central command tent.
The sounds of battle roared outside Snow Old City, and all of this was to cover up the killing intent on this small hill.
Shang Xingzhou said calmly, "I am indeed very old, because unlike you, I refuse to resort to such disgusting methods on my own body just to live a few more years. The former most beautiful person under heaven has turned into this neither-human-nor-ghost appearance. When you die, will you have the face to meet your elder brother?"
"Shut your mouth!"
The black-robed figure's voice turned shrill, like iron needles piercing through the air over the small hill.
In an instant, many small holes appeared in the painting hanging in the sky.
"You people have no right to speak his name!"
The black-robed figure screamed in fury.
The next moment, he calmed down. The entire process was abrupt and eerie.
The part of his face not covered by the hood was cyan, and with the faint smile gradually emerging, it became even more sinister.
"I will kill you, and then let my brother kill you again in the underworld—kill you countless times."
Shang Xingzhou's expression remained calm as he said, "First, you need to be able to kill me."
After saying this, he suddenly coughed violently, so severely that his always-straight back gradually bent like an old pine tree.
The little Daoist supported his arm, continuously patting his back, his eyes glistening with tears as he cried out in a childish voice, "Ancestor, Ancestor, are you alright?"
Shang Xingzhou straightened up with difficulty and waved his hand.
"Look at your pitiful self—wrinkled face, white hair. How can you still be my opponent?"
The black-robed figure looked at him and said, "So, go die."
The words "go die" were usually only heard in the streets, spoken by shrews with a curse-like tone.
But the black-robed figure said these three words very calmly, elegantly, because he wasn't cursing—he was merely stating an impending fact.
Hidden within his calmness was an unspoken admiration, or perhaps a mutual respect.
After all, in the past thousand years of history, he and Shang Xingzhou could be considered the two greatest schemers.
Unfortunately, any scheme ultimately had to be realized through force, and victory or defeat still came down to life and death. It seemed to lack a bit of aesthetic beauty.
The black-robed figure vanished from his spot.
When he reappeared, he was already in front of the carriage.
There was no connecting link between these two images; they seemed like two independent events.
The mountaintop fell silent.
The grass sank slightly, leaving several clear footprints.
The afterimage dragged by the black-robed figure against the green-yellow background was like the tip of a giant brush, its ink full and rich, as if ready to paint a picture or write a cursive scroll.
That brush did not fall on the giant painting in the sky but landed inside the carriage.
The black-robed figure's withered fingers, glowing with a faint cyan light, stabbed toward Shang Xingzhou's throat.
...
...
A trace of regret appeared in Shang Xingzhou's eyes.
As he had said earlier, he and the black-robed figure were the two greatest schemers in the world.
He truly wanted to fight the black-robed figure.
But unfortunately, he was really old.
Over tens of thousands of years, as the only one to fully master the Western Flow Canon of Daoist cultivation, he understood the power of time better than anyone.
Every night for the past decade, he had felt the flow of life and the fading of his divine soul.
He was a legitimate successor of the state religion, unwilling to use evil arts to prolong his life like the black-robed figure, and his realm and strength were now inferior to his opponent.
Earlier, he had tried to lock the black-robed figure's vital energy and divine soul but failed. Now, he could only wait to be killed by him.
He regretted not being able to fight him in his prime—not for a clean, straightforward battle, but one where both sides used every scheme and underhanded tactic possible.
Beyond that, he had no other regrets. What about death?
He had driven the carriage up the mountain precisely to lure the demons into killing him.
Luring out the black-robed figure was the best outcome he could have hoped for.
Outside the old temple in Xining Town, there was a small creek with many fish. Yu Ren and Chen Changsheng loved to sit by the creek watching the fish play, but what he loved most was fishing.
Whether it was koi or red thread fish, big or small, steamed or braised, they were all delicious.
He was the greatest angler in the world. Today, he had used himself as bait. Who could escape?
...
...
The autumn sun hung high in the sky, the brightest moment of the day.
The black-robed figure's mood was as radiant as the sunlight.
The brighter the surroundings, the darker the carriage seemed.
His hand was still two feet away from Shang Xingzhou.
He saw the regret in Shang Xingzhou's eyes and the terrified gaze of the little Daoist.
Then, in the next moment, he saw a patch of white suddenly appear inside the dark carriage.
What was that pale, ghastly white?
Not the face of a vengeful ghost, but a piece of white paper?
Immediately after, a piercing light tore through the darkness, slashing toward the black-robed figure.
It was blindingly bright, as if someone had lit a sun inside the carriage.
It was bone-chillingly cold, instantly covering the grass on the slope with a thin layer of frost.
What kind of light could possess two such opposing auras at the same time?
More than ten li away, in the swamp, Wang Po leaned against a withered tree, staring at the distant silhouette of the Mountain-Toppling Ape with extreme focus.
Suddenly, he sensed something and turned to look toward the small hill.
Almost at the same time, the Mountain-Toppling Ape also turned in that direction.
The demon general's icy gaze suddenly burned with fervor, then cooled sharply, filled with worry.
The Second Demon General, along with the tribal chieftains and elites attacking the central command tent, also felt the emergence of a powerful aura.
Chen Changsheng and some of the divine generals sensed it too.
Xu Yourong felt it most clearly and accurately, because she was most familiar with this aura.
When she was a child, bored in the palace, she often went to play with that spear.
...
...
The black-robed figure let out a sharp howl and retreated at an unimaginable speed.
Frost clung to his eyelashes, and everything he saw shimmered with rainbow-colored light.
Including the spear that had torn through the darkness.
With a soft *puff*.
The black-robed figure landed on the grass dozens of zhang away.
A hole had opened in his right chest.
Blood gushed out unceasingly.
It looked horrifying.
Golden specks of light drifted from the bloody hole, resembling a slanting ray of sunset.
"Why is that spear in your hands!"
The black-robed figure stared at the carriage on the mountaintop, shouting in fury, "Why are you here?"
The breeze rustled the white paper, making a *shua shua* sound.
Xiao Zhang stepped out of the carriage, holding an iron spear in his hand.